


Heart's Curtain

by a_different_equation



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, Miss Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Angst, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Women, Character Study, Crossdressing, Crossover, Disguise, F/F, Feminist Themes, Friendship, Gender Identity, Hijinks & Shenanigans, MFMM Flashfic Challenge, Period Typical Attitudes, Queer Themes, Sassy, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 18:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation
Summary: "I would be lost without my doctor." Or, to rescue Sherlock Holmes from the asylum, Dr. Dorothy Watson teams up with Phryne Fisher and Dr. Mac. The Game is On!





	Heart's Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,
> 
> what do you need to know to understand Heart's Curtain. Not much: it's a crossover with MFMM and "Miss Holmes". 
> 
> "Miss Holmes" is a play by Christopher M. Walsh that features a female!Sherlock Holmes and female!John Watson in Victorian London. They are still a detective and a doctor, they solve crimes, Mycroft and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson and all the others are there as well. Yet, this play does not shy away from the fact that modern women aren't what society wants. Therefore, Sherlock ends in an asylum (= mental health institution) TWICE during the play. 
> 
> Beware of that. Also, overall time period misogynic people etc. However, and that's why I like Miss Holmes, and why I wanted to meet them Phryne Fisher and Dr. Mac: they're not having it. Strong female characters, epic friendship, a big f*ck you to a certain kind of people. 
> 
> It screamed for a crossover. And I promise: the focus is on the women and NOT on the asylum. No knowledge else is neccessary, pinky promise! Heart's curtain is basically +2k women being awesome.
> 
> Thanks to MFMM FlashFic Challenge for hosting. It's been fun. Hope it shows :)

"It's the third time now, is it not?"

"Really, Watson? I've been barely away and you're becoming ordinary already. It's been the fifth time."

Miss Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Dorothy Watson were a pair that one could not get used to. They were one of their kind. Phryne Fisher had heard one or two or twenty tales about the young doctor that had been a fellow student of medicine at Elizabeth MacMillan's alma mater, the university of Edinburgh, and yet she could not put them into a box.

While Dorothy had been at least a decade younger, the two women had hit it off immediately. The invitation had been hers. A surprise on a sunny day in Australia. Post from England. For a second Phryne had feared it be from her father, but it had been by a fellow detective. That their doctors had shared a history could be a quincedence but Miss Holmes as well as Miss Fisher didn't believe in such things. 

More than once Phryne had wondered if there had been more to their friendship than lectures and lunch, but Mac was a "kiss and don't tell"- women. It might be wise to not advertise such unnatural habits (as society called them) but Phryne had a morbid curiosity as well as she was her best friend. 

The question of Miss Holmes being the best friend of Dr. Watson? That was another story all together. Unlike their Australian counterpart, they shared a flat together. If a woman that constantly typed some digits into thin air could be capable of the softer emotions, Phryne wasn't sure. 

Normally, Phryne Fisher could read people like an open book. However, this other female detective might be her equal. Phryne comforted her partly bruised ego with the fact that Sherlock Holmes - while wearing a male name - was a woman.

A woman who Phryne had met immediately after accompaying Mac back to England. As Dr. Watson - just like Dr. MacMillan - only exist as a duo. Here, in Victorian London, it was always Sherlock Holmes, private detective, and her loyal companion, Dr. Dorothy Watson, in 221b Baker Street.

And all would be well if society had not proved to be an arse again. A telegramme had alerted the four (or, five if one counted Mrs Hudson, a Scot woman with a certain... temper?) that Miss Holmes would be sent to an asylum soon.

"You count the times?" "They sent women to asylums?" Phryne Fisher and Dr. MacMillan exclaimed unisono.

"Obviously." However, below the facade of put on bravery, there was something simmering in the face of Sherlock Holmes, private detective.

Her outerwear would scandalize society as her shirt was not tucked into her trousers. Phryne, raised as a Honourable Lady far too long for her liking, knew that it resembled to present yourself in your undergarments. Her hair was in desarray, and worse, open. Her coat resembled more a bathrobe. No, if one looked from the outside, with the critical view, one conclude that she ought to go to an asylum. 

"It's horrible. And unjust. And a disgrace. And..."

Dorothy Watson, and how it had Phryne Fisher surprised to see her open the door in a dress. Polished shoes, a hand bag! 

"Yes, yes, Watson. We all know it. As it has happen before. Once even with you present."

"You let that happen to your... _friend_?" Phryne sounded curious, and scandalized.

"My companion." Dr. Dorothy Watson was non for chit-chat. Further, as the other doctor should apparently not get the wrong idea. "And there was nothing I could do as her brother is in charge."

"Her _brother_?" 

"Yes, yes, Mycroft. No, you won't like him. Neither do I. Except when he's useful, and on Sundays when we have dinner and play chess. Where was I? Don't you worry, dear guests. I have a plan, obviously."

"Do I need to freshen up my German, Sherlock?"

"If you like..."

And there was certainly a story to tell, sadly, the doorbell rang and the ever-angry Mrs Hudson made her loud way to open it. It was time for Sherlock Holmes to be brought back to the asylum again. After all: a woman with an own mind? One could not let it pass, after all, it's the 19th century!

 

* * *

 

“So… Do I get this straight: she gets dragged away.” Phryne pointed at the now closed door. It had been only minutes since Sherlock Holmes had left 221b and it was already unnatural quiet here. No walking over the tables, no smelling experiments, no exclamation over solving another mystery. “And then you do exactly what? Because I hope that you do have a plan.”

“Can I borrow your doctor for an hour or two?” Doctor Watson turned to her. “And I take it that you, Mac, have no aversion against dressing up as a man for the occasion?”

“Well, no but…”

“Excellent. I could not ask Mike, that is Dr. Michael Stamford, again as were not on speaking terms since I refused his marriage proposal and instead moved into 221b.” Sensing the picked interest of the guests, she hastened to continue, “We'll have to act swiftly. Subtle and silent will not do. I guess that being bossy isn't going to be a problem.” The woman left behind sounded more like her companion with each words as if the absence needed a substitute.

“You bet”, a wink, “doctor.”

“Good, we'll meet here in 15 minutes. I'll take my gun with me. I hope we won't have to stage a hostage situation this time, but one cannot be too prepared.” The doctor straightened up. She raised her voice, a tad too cheery, she proposed: “Mrs Hudson! Could you prepare some tea and biscuits, and maybe some sandwiches, for when we get home? You know how famish Miss Holmes is after such occasions.”

“Yes, miss. I might even bake a cake. What do you think, doctor? That'll be a comfort and will keep me occupied.”

“That's a wonderful idea, Mrs Hudson. Splendid. Miss Holmes will be grateful…”

“No, she won't. At least, not in the open.”

The housekeeper, who had seemed to be so harsh a second before, appeared to be more a mother figure. No grumpy shouting, no scolding. A hint of a smile and a bit teary eyed.

“You know us too well”, said Dr. Watson.

“I know that Sherlock Holmes would be lost without her doctor.”

A ghost of a memory and a smile, fond and warm, on both of their faces.

“You heard that…”

“I hear so much more… but I am as all of the female sex: very apt at ignoring things.”

The older and the younger woman started to giggle like schoolgirls. Phryne Fisher, a modern woman, did not bat an eyelash.

“Sorry to intrude but what should I do in the meantime? To be blunt: my talents in housekeeping, in particular baking, are limited. Actually, I prefer to spend my time with things that would bring me into an asylum too.”

“Good that we left England then”, contered Mac.

The two friends exchanged a look. Phryne smirked.

“You went, I followed. A doctor is always needed… if not always wanted. And as the good housekeeper said, I would be lost without my doctor.”

Mrs Hudson broke the silence. She was a treasure - how deceiving a facade could be - when she said, a tad too cheery, “All the detectives need a doctor. I will prepare us a nice cuppa. Don't you worry, Dr. Watson. You'll mark my words: Miss Holmes will be back in no time.” Leaning closer to Phryne, “The first time I was worried, I will not lie. But it gets better. These days, it only takes a couple of hours.” Stage-whispered, she continued, “And if all fails, I am a decent cook. There's always the possibility of blackmail. After all, Mycroft Holmes enjoys a lovely Sunday roast like all men.”

 

* * *

 

“How do I look?”

The doctor soldiered through the living room.

Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan was wearing black trousers, a crisp white shirt and a dark grey jacket. Suspenders and a matching-tie completed the outfit. While the Australian was a tall for her sex, it appeared as if the room was suddendly too small. She looked the act, but Dr. Watson wondered suddenly if it was more than that.

Dr. MacMillan interrupted her thoughts: “Your detective has almost as many disguises as mine.”

“Sherlock would love to have more but she doesn't have the funds. Her clients often don't come from money and her brother won't allow her sister to purchase male attire with her trust fund. Hell, if he saw her in some of her disguises, he would lock her up in the asylum for good.”

“Then it is decided!”, Phryne exlaimed. Her eyes lighted up with glee. “We are going shopping as all is settled.”

As if sensing the other doctor's hesitation, Mac interjected, “She will not take a _no_ for an answer, believe me. Stubborn since I met her more than forty years ago. Not that far away from here, actually.”

Phryne piped in, “London is a melting pot for all sorts of people. Strangers meet…”

Before she could continue, Doctor Watson blurted out, “And Dr. Anderson said that I am the romantic.” Silence. Hesitantly now, “Why is she looking at me as if she wants to kill me, Mac?”

“We do not use the term _romance,_ Watson.”

Absently, but with growing confidence, Dr. Watson replied, “Rarely was I so glad to have cured Sherlock from this nonsense of _Caring is no advantage_ and _sentiment is only found on the loosing side_. In 221b we believe that…”

“Love can conquer it all.”

“If you want to phrase it like that. However, a word of advice of the person who has shared a flat for quite some time with her: if you say it like _that_ in front of Sherlock, she is going to kill you first.”

“Oh”, Phryne said. “Oh!” And as third time, now even with a bad imitation of Sherlock's deduction face, “ _romance_ is fine but _love_ needs time. I understand. Your secret is safe with me.” The female detective from Melbourne spun on her heels and headed to the kitchen. "And Mrs Hudson.”

Before Dr. Watson could reply, she had vanished. The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, Australia's first female private detective, might have even whistled.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, she is always like that.”  

Mac's voice had deepen. Again, Dorothy sensed that there was more to it all. She was no detective, but as a doctor one knew about human nature. Or one could if one had an open mind as well as an open heart. 

Dr. Dorothy Watson did not only know about strict hygenie to prevent contamination. Instantly, a smile curled around her lips as she recalled the memory of Sherlock deducing her profession by the smell of chlorid on her hands.

A modern doctor that had prescribed a cold compress to handle a black eye. A modern woman that had known about pschology, and what horrible treatments had been invented in the name of science, medicine and society to change people. There had been the so-called cure for hysteria already. Surely, soon a cure for homosexuality would follow. A new name for a love as old as time, that had been brought right into society's spotlight by Oscar Wilde's trail. He was not to blame, Dorothy knew it. 

Apparently, when Mac had admitted to be a lover of women, a sapphic, Phryne had called society an arse. Or had it been when another friend of hers admitted to be a homosexual? Anyway, in Miss Fisher's mind those people - because they were people - were no cowards. They were strong, and she was proud to call them her friends.

Mac had written about it in one of their letters. They had picked up their pen pal costum from student years recently. Back then, they had shared a lodging house and yet, every day like clockwork, a short note had awaited her. What else could she do than reply? Back then, back now.

If she could only understand the meaning of it all? 

“Yes, alcohol and cigarettes are not good for your health, but it does wonders for blending in a male crowd. Which is not only beneficial when working as the only female doctor in a hospital. A fate you shared with me, if remember correctly. Not to forget our other job on the side...” 

Dorothy was brought abrupty back to the present. She started to babble, “The stage lost a fine actor etc.”

“You believe this to be a disguise?” And if sensing that no quick answer would be forthcoming, Mac continued, “Some days I think it would be so much easier. The way of men. Do whatever they will.”

When this admission did not stirred a reaction either, Mac turned to the window, looking out. Baker Street was busy in the fading light. People rushing home, leaving their work behind and being private person for some stolen hours.

Mac fixed a point in the air, speaking up: “But I have always known to be a person ahead of my time. Maybe one day it will be possible to be truly yourself.”

Silence.

“And if… theoretically, there be a chance that the sexes would be equal? That women have the same rights as men. If you could choose… then…”

But Mac did not answer. Instead, she put on the hat to finish her outfit. One last look outside, then she tuned to Dr. Watson. It was as if another person stood in the living room of 221b, when the ever-so familiar, “The Game is Afoot!” was declared.

 

* * *

 

The carriage ride was short while still too long for Watson. Being apart from her companion made her anxious. She had quit her job at the hospital not long after moving in with Sherlock. Regular work hours did not go well with consulting enterprises.

Even she knew that they were on a rescue mission, one they were apt by now, Doctor Watson could not stop her mind from wandering off. Far too vivdly she remembered the first time.

Back then when they had investigate the Chapman business. The wife of the well-decorated inspector from Scotland Yard who had pretend to be a client, wanting to clear her husbands name, only to be turned out the villian. How many people had died before Holmes had solved the mystery, far too weak in body and mind, and all because of the hateful asylum!

Twice in this short time span, Sherlock had been sent there.

First, mere hours before they had been introduced by Dr. Anderson. Of course, Sherlock had had enough time inbetween to get rughed up and needing a doctor. Not for the aftereffects of the asylum but from a boxing fight.

Then, as an act, during the investigation. To throw the baddie, or what they assumed to be, off the scent. Oh, yes, Dorothy Watson and Sherlock Holmes could admit that they felt into the trap of society in this case too: when women could be detectives and doctors, how could they not be cold-blooded killer too? Her maniac screaming after hearing of her husbands death, that they had been equals, had caved into her memory.

Now, she had to do it again.

Facing Sherlock, the shell of a woman.

Apathic, slurred speech, disarranged thoughts. She had feared that they had broken her, that she who had just found her, would have lost her already.

Dorothy was a doctor.

She knew what society thought about women like them. They did all in their power to change them. Because, or so Dorothy believed, they were afraid of them. Further, men were not kean to share the world with them. And women like Sherlock Holmes? They might threaten the so-called natural order. A man would stand no chance against her. She was a force of nature.

So they tried to change her nature, over and over and over again.

 

* * *

 

"Ready, doctor?"

"Lead the way, doctor."

Both doctor grinned. They would use their sex at their advantage: doctor underestimated women constantly. 

And as predicted, it worked. Mac acted as a specialist, Dorothy as the translator once more. 

They shouted and put on a show, and if the fury hit a bit close to home, was an anger that came from walking with cains, who could blame them?  

When they left the asylum, quick and quiet, it was barely a whisper as one of them quoted Magnus Hirschfeld, "Die Menschen sind, wenn überhaupt etwas, dann von Geburt ungleich."

Who it was? Did it matter? Who they really are, that mattered. 

And while Dr. Watson hold Sherlock a bit closer in the carriage back to Baker Street, she understood why the vist of the doctor and her detective had taken place. 

Because here, surrounded by well-minded women, they could be whoever they want to be.

221b, their heart's curtain.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the quote, aka some background infomation:  
> Magnus Hirschfeld (14 May 1868 – 14 May 1935) was a German physician and sexologist educated primarily in Germany; he based his practice in Berlin-Charlottenburg. An outspoken advocate for sexual minorities, Hirschfeld founded the Scientific-Humanitarian Committee. Historian Dustin Goltz characterized this group as having carried out "the first advocacy for homosexual and transgender rights".
> 
> His quote means roughly that when one thing is certain that all humans are born different. 
> 
> I used it a) because of the queer theme and b) because in Miss Holmes they really use fake-German to get Sherlock Holmes out of the asylum. Back then, the German speaking countries were the avantgarde regarding "modern" psychology, Signund Freud probably the most well-known. 
> 
> To quote - without the guards and medical personal understanding its meaning - Hirschfeld seemed to good to pass. 
> 
> Lastly, I learned that "Heart's Curtain" is not actually an English word. I read the prompt on the MFMM FlashFic Challenge blog and... I made it into a metaphor? For me, it should mean something like being at ease, a place where you can shut out the world and be yourself, a home for a heart, a shelter.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Kudos are love. I would love to hear from YOU. 
> 
> (Don't start yelling at me as a non-native butchering up English tough. Without a beta, in under 24 hrs, I tried my best!).


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